


your touch brought forth an incandescent glow

by cowboybaloneyselectriccity



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Curses, Fairy Tale Elements, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, M/M, phishing scams
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-12 15:46:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29636919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cowboybaloneyselectriccity/pseuds/cowboybaloneyselectriccity
Summary: He sat up straight. “Hang on. So, in order for you to break the curse—"“I’d have to kiss you, yes." Seungkwan bit at his lip and watched him intently.“Oh,” Hansol breathed, long and slow.Hansol knew a handful of people who had been cursed—in fights and accidents and unfortunate encounters with cursed heirlooms hidden in attics—but it had never happened to him, until a moment of inattention stuck him with a case of clinically-diagnosed Bad Luck for the next couple of days. Unless, of course, he knew a Prince Charming.
Relationships: Boo Seungkwan/Chwe Hansol | Vernon
Comments: 19
Kudos: 109





	your touch brought forth an incandescent glow

**Author's Note:**

> this work is loosely inspired by [Any Wish You Want](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3432215) by Ferritin4. check out their work if you’re interested in hockey rpf and/or magic curses because they’re one of the best in the biz
> 
> title from “ivy” by taylor swift

When his phone lit up with the innocuous text reading, “Vernon: Your AMAZON package 98153 is out for devilry. Check> amzo.info/4SmfVjg3 for tracking,” Hansol spared one second to think _wow, I completely forgot what I ordered_ before clicking through the link, filling his full name into the form, and hitting send.

He immediately realized his mistake and froze in the middle of the city sidewalk.

“Oh my god,” he said aloud, furiously tapping at his phone. “Please, please, undo. Please undo.”

The screen froze, then glitched, then distorted into ugly lines of pixelated colors that rearranged into an angry red spell work symbol. A violent shriek suddenly blared out of his headphones, ringing through his head and making him stumble.

“Shit,” Hansol swore, panicking. This was a curse. He got phished and now he was being cursed. What are you supposed to do when you’re getting cursed? His phone was abruptly burning hot in his hand; he dropped it with a clatter onto the sidewalk, where it rattled angrily against the concrete.

 _Fuck. FUCK._ Maybe he could escape its range?

His grocery bags tumbled out of his arms as he threw off his headphones and stumbled back from the mess of red light. The spell work was manifesting physically now, vermillion symbols rising up from the phone screen and dancing in the air in front of him, growing louder and brighter and more aggressive. The noise from his headphones was a disembodied scream that surrounded him, rising into a shrieking, ear-splitting crescendo.

Hansol threw his arms up around his head as the magic exploded with a bang, dousing him in luminescent red sparks that sank into his skin.

Damn.

…

A kind bystander helped him get a car to the nearest curse clinic. He thanked them as he gathered back up his groceries and hunted down his airpods.

“You probably shouldn’t touch your phone without protection after it’s used as a malicious conduit,” they reminded him, holding out his last grocery bag.

“You’re probably right.” Hansol wrapped his hand in his sleeve, picked up his phone, and delicately slid it into his jacket pocket. “Thank you for your help.”

He took his last bag from them. As soon as he took hold of it, the paper bottom of the bag ripped open with a loud tear, scattering his bananas and laundry detergent and ground coffee across the sidewalk.

His new friend clicked their tongue in sympathy. “That’s unlucky.”

“Yeah.” Hansol sighed. They helped him reconsolidate his items in his remaining three bags. “Really, thank you again for your help. I know it’s—”

A wave of water and mud fishtailed out from behind a passing car smacked into him, soaking him head to toe.

“Oh my f—”

All three of his bags ripped open.

…

Two hours later Hansol was stomping up the stairs to his apartment with his groceries bundled in his jacket and a fresh lecture about why not to click on suspicious links in his head; freezing and wet and feeling all together pretty pitiful.

He wiggled his keys out of his still-damp front pocket and immediately dropped them on the front mat.

A wave of frustration instantly crashed into the back of his throat, prickling at his eyes and making his throat feel thick. He forced himself to take a shaky breath in and stooped to grab them. As he fumbled with them his house key slid free of its ring, fell back to the concrete, bounced, and slotted itself—as if by magic—halfway underneath the crack in the front door.

“Oh my fucking god.” He threw himself down and tried to rescue his key before the curse locked him outside, but the key wiggled itself underneath the door unimpeded. He slumped down against the door and knocked fruitlessly. He already knew Jihoon wouldn’t be home until that evening. Hansol reached into his pocket to call him, before remembering that on top of everything his phone was busted until he could take it to a repair shop.

He banged his fist on the door angrily, then sat back and wiped at his eyes. A gust of wind brushed through the open-air hallway, cutting through his wet clothes and making him shiver.

So this was Bad Luck.

Ironically, the clinic had told him he was lucky he wasn’t cursed with something more malicious—a standard Bad Luck Curse would wear off naturally after three days, and was only strong enough to inconvenience him, not harm him. Curses cast through remote spam links were still a new area, but it easily could have been a much nastier curse, especially if the phisher had taken more of his personal information.

“And in that case,” the nurse had told him, gently swabbing the indicator test on the inside of his arm, which glowed red where the applicator touched, “You’d have to worry about identity theft, too.”

He was grateful it wasn’t more serious. He was grateful he hadn’t lost his bank information, or been turned to stone, or had a festering wound that wouldn’t heal, or some other horrible thing the nurse had told him she’d seen happen that month. He’d essentially gotten trolled--which almost made him feel worse, like he didn’t even deserve to feel so miserable. He was honestly fine: inconvenienced, frustrated, and mad at himself, yes, but fine. He’d just made a mistake and now he was locked out of his house.

He hated feeling like this, though. He hated feeling like the situation was out of his control, hated being the victim of someone else’s chaos. It took a lot of time and skill to work a curse, especially remotely. Whoever had sent that text had worked hard to make him miserable.

 _Fuck you, dude,_ he thought bitterly. He wasn’t really a spiteful person, but it felt satisfying to throw a curse of his own, even if it had no effect other than his own catharsis. Hansol never studied magic beyond mandatory classes in high school. It just wasn’t his thing, really, in the way music or biology or sports wasn’t everyone’s thing either. He had wondered fleetingly what it might be like to be cursed in the same way he wondered what it might be like to break a bone. Now he knew and he knew it sucked.

He tipped his head back against the door and cracked a smile. Seungkwan was going to kick his ass when he found out this happened, he thought fondly. He had sent him a worksheet on cybermagic security last month and everything. Hansol had nodded thoughtfully at the email and then marked it as unread so that he’d remember to come back to it—and then hadn’t, of course.

Hansol had built an archive of thoughtful unread articles from Seungkwan over the course of their friendship, and Seungkwan’s phone probably had an eclectic library of unopened SoundCloud albums from him. Sometimes sending your best friend links you knew they’d never open was a love language.

They’d been friends for three years now, after they were introduced at a mutual friend’s party, but they’d really met a semester before that, on the sidewalk between classes, when Hansol passed a group of choir club members promoting their spring show.

It was a chaotic scene: bright and festive, with passing students bottlenecked in front of the choir club’s fold-out table parked by the university library. One of the members was lobbing bright blue no-heat fireworks—the kind you could buy in the magic section at a dollar store—into the air above the table in time with the music blasting out of a Bluetooth speaker, but Hansol’s gaze went to the boy out in front.

He worked the crowd with charm radiating off of him in waves, shouting and singing over the crush of students with his flyers raised high, making his other members and passersby doubled over in laughter. He pointed right at Hansol when they made eye-contact, stopping him in his tracks, then bounced over and pressed a flyer into his hands.

“You’re too pretty to not come to our show,” he said with a wink, and then turned and hollered back over the crowd, turning heads and gathering attention like he was born to it.

He was enchanting. Hansol had gripped the flyer and paused for almost a minute to watch him command the sidewalk, and long enough for one of the other tablers—a second year named Seokmin, he’d learn later—to ask him if he was doing ok.

Hansol remembered blushing and walking to class in a daze. He didn’t know if Seungkwan even remembered their first meeting, but it stuck in his head even after Jihoon introduced them at Soonyoung’s birthday, after they became real friends, after Hansol left school, after he started to realize that he might not just love Seungkwan but maybe _love_ him—was utterly taken by the way he spoke and his energy and the way he could read a room and read Hansol in turn. He was completely in the sauce for him before even he realized it was sauce.

He wished he could call him now, cold and cursed on the doorstep.

He shifted on the ground, trying to get comfortable. It was probably around six—Jihoon wouldn’t be home from work until seven at the earliest. He shut his eyes and tried to let all the tension fall out of him. If he could fall asleep, maybe he wouldn’t even notice the time passing. At least none of his groceries needed to be in the freezer-- _lucky,_ he thought sourly, as another push of icy wind wound through him.

…

For a few blissful moments then next morning, Hansol forgot he was cursed.

Instead, he woke up slow and luxurious, the way you do when you wake up early on a day with no obligations. He burrowed deeper under the blankets and stretched out his limbs. Bright winter sunlight streamed in through his bedroom window and there was a peak of a brilliant clear blue sky. It felt like a good day.

He rolled over and reached for his phone, which was broken, he remembered with a twinge. Because of the curse.

It was like waking up from a bad dream and realizing it was just a dream, in reverse; a slow dawning of consciousness that settled over him in a cloud. He reached for his work laptop instead and pawed at it until it told him the time, then frowned at the ceiling and did the math in his head: 16 hours of the curse down, 56 to go. The thought settled like a weight in his chest.

Jihoon knocked gently on his door while he was propped up in bed composing an email to his parents about what happened and assuring them that he was okay. He hummed and Jihoon pushed open the door.

“Hey.” His roommate’s bedhead popped into view. “I’ve got an extra rehearsal for the gig tonight so I can’t make it to brunch. Do you want me to tell Seungkwan you can’t make it either?”

A couple of their friends had planned to meet up at the old café by campus before the semester got into full swing for the students. Hansol looked at the bright blue winter sky and weighed the cost/benefits of going to brunch while cursed versus being alone in the apartment while cursed.

“No, I’m going to go,” he said decisively.

Jihoon gave him a skeptical look. “Um, are you sure? You looked pretty rough last night.”

“Thanks,” he said, stretching his arms out over his head and rolling out his shoulders. He didn’t doubt it—Jihoon had found him huddled on the doorstep around eight and he’d passed out almost as soon as he crossed the threshold. “I feel a lot better now, though. Also, I want to see everyone.”

Jihoon raised his eyebrows and nodded knowingly. “And Seungkwan.”

Hansol rolled his eyes but blushed anyway. “No, everyone,” he insisted. “I haven’t seen Wonu or Chan since before the New Year.”

Jihoon smirked at him. As his roommate and experimental pop duo bandmate and also the one who had introduced him to Seungkwan, Jihoon had noticed his crush before Hansol even realized he had it.

“Okay, lover boy,” he teased, drawing out the syllables. “I texted my mom to ask if she had any advice for managing a curse like yours and she’s going to get back to me. She said to eat well and drink water, though.”

“Your mom always tells me that,” Hansol laughed, slumping back in bed. Jihoon’s mom had a PhD in Magic Arts, although her field was clinical applications of inanimate animation rather than breaking or treating curses on people. “Tell her I said thank you and I will.”

Jihoon nodded and tapped the door frame thoughtfully. “Are you sure you’re going to be ok? I have to be out of the house until late today, but I can definitely--”

Hansol waved his hand. “It’s all good. No worries.” He was pretty sure he could handle it better than last night now that he was rested and mentally prepared. Plus, maybe the severity of the curse was going to wear off with time? He felt like he remembered that from school. The most intense part of it was probably over.

Besides, yesterday hadn’t been _that_ bad. And he did want to see Seungkwan.

Jihoon gave him another, deeper, skeptical look.

“It’s all good,” he said again. “I really feel like the worst is over."

…

The worst was not over, and despite his bravado getting to brunch ended up being significantly more taxing than he thought it’d be.

The hot water cut out midway through his shower—but that was fine, actually, he half-expected the curse to do that and wrapped up quickly. Dropping his toothbrush toothpaste-side-down on the bathroom floor was a challenging moment, but he cleaned it thoroughly and hyped himself back up in the mirror while he finished.

 _I can vibe with this, no worries, no worries,_ he chanted to himself, as he pulled on a pair of jeans that immediately ripped two inches along the inseam. He sighed. Okay, that sucks, but he was pretty sure that was fixable, and the rip wasn’t too high on the thigh to be unwearable in a pinch—which was going to the next few days, he realized. If he tried to put on another pair the curse might rip holes in his entire wardrobe. He pulled out an old stained hoodie that he wouldn’t mind the curse getting its hands on.

He felt sufficiently hyped on his ability to manage the curse by the time he was ready to leave. The café was even within walking distance, so he could dodge the extra complications of getting on public transportation. Another point for him. Easy. No worries.

He grabbed his key off the hook by the door—where it had politely set itself after locking him outside—and stepped out into the crisp winter morning with an optimistic attitude that was immediately tested by bird poop landing square on the top of his bare head.

He looked up at the bright beautiful January sky, betrayed, before turning back inside to clean off. He left the second time with his least favorite beanie on and an umbrella in hand for good measure, and cautiously exited onto the street.

He made it to the end of his block before a truly extraordinary blast of wind roared up the street and snatched his umbrella inside out, snapping every single metal spoke in half in the process, and then _another_ bird pooped on his jacket, like the curse was taking revenge on him for even trying to outsmart it.

“Okay,” Hansol said aloud, a little shaky, “I can still work with this.” He looked both ways carefully and stepped off of the curb directly into a puddle of slurry and sludge up to his ankle.

…

Despite his best efforts, he was damp and sticky and feeling decidedly cursed by the time he plopped down next to Chan at their usual table. The expressions on his friends’ faces told him he looked about as cursed as he felt.

“What happened to you?!” Seungkwan exclaimed, pushing a mug of coffee towards him.

“It’s been a rough morning,” he answered, picking up the mug and taking a grateful sip. It was completely cold—a result of either the curse or arriving a half hour later than his friends.

“I’ll bet,” said Wonu, reaching across the table to brush a leaf off his shoulder. He eyed the bright midday sunlight streaming through the window next to their booth. “Why are you wet?”

That was because his own personal raincloud had started following him at around block four. Hansol gave up on his cold coffee and quietly grieved the ease of his un-cursed life. As he began to set it down, the mug handle broke free and the full cup tumbled into his lap.

His friends exclaimed. Hansol sighed and started mopping up his jeans.

“How the hell did that happen?” Chan exclaimed, reaching over to pick up the handle. “It just broke off?”

Seungkwan flagged down one of the waitstaff and asked for more napkins. “Seriously, what’s the matter? Your vibes are all over the place.”

“Ok.” Hansol corralled the mass of coffee-stained napkins on the table and smiled sheepishly. “This is not a big deal but I got cursed.”

All eyes at the table fixed on him.

“Cursed?” Chan repeated, eyes wide.

“How? When? What kind of curse? Are you okay?” Seungkwan kicked Hansol under the table. “When were you going to say something?”

“It happened yesterday,” he said, kicking him back. “And it’s not a big deal.” He accepted a fresh coffee from their waiter and sipped it carefully while he summarized his series of unfortunate events.

“You got _phished?”_ Seungkwan swatted at him across the table and Hansol dodged. “I cannot fucking believe you opened that link. I sent you that security worksheet and everything.”

“And gave them your _name_!” Chan pushed him in mock outrage. “I’ve been getting those scam texts too, but that’s like 101!”

Hansol rolled his eyes and pushed him back. “I barely got phished. They didn’t even prompt for my card information. It’s more like a prank. And I’m _fine_ ,” he said emphatically, scooting Chan’s Diet Coke back toward the center of the table, away from where it’d been sliding itself toward the edge of the table and was clearly threatening to spill into his lap. “It’s barely a curse, too.”

Wonu was shaking his head. “It happens. We send the office staff phishing traps for them to practice on all the time and you wouldn’t believe the information people give up when they’re not paying attention. Sometimes it’s just bad—” He stopped and grimaced at Hansol. “Bad luck. Sorry,” he finished sheepishly. “Why didn’t the clinic break the curse for you?”

He sighed. “They gave me a referral to a place to get it broken, but they’re closed for non-emergencies until Monday. I can stick it out.”

“Wait, Monday?” Seungkwan repeated tensely. Hansol felt him start to bounce his leg under the table. “You’re going to have it for that long?”

“Three days, yeah,” he answered. Chan whistled.

Hansol stole a bite from Seungkwan’s plate, who let him. Although his friends had ordered for him before he arrived, it seemed like the order had somehow (unluckily) gotten lost. ““It’s really fine. It’s not dangerous.”

Seungkwan eyed him suspiciously. “Did the internet tell you that it wasn’t dangerous or did a professional tell you that?”

Hansol rolled his eyes. “The clinic told me.” He stole another bite and grinned at him. “I didn’t even _check_ WebMD.”

“You’re so annoying,” Seungkwan pouted. “Your devoted friend is worried and you mock them.” He pushed the rest of his plate over to Hansol, who accepted it gratefully. “This isn’t like someone convincing themselves they had a terrible disease because they got a completely inexplicable rash. And if it _was,”_ he emphasized, kicking Hansol again, who grinned harder, “I’d hope you’d treat that person without such disdain and mockery, _thank you_.”

“You knew you were vaccinated against chicken pox!” Hansol shot back, laughing. “How did you convince yourself _that_ was the answer?!”

“I refuse to relitigate this,” Seungkwan huffed. “I am better and smarter now and I no longer need to defend myself. You, however,” he pointed at Hansol for emphasis, “are clinically cursed, and acting like it’s nothing.”

“I don’t think it’s nothing,” he said defensively. “I just think that it’s something I have to live with for a couple days. It sucks, and I’m not happy about it, but that’s how it is for a bit. It’s okay.”

Seungkwan tapped his hand on the table anxiously and said shortly, “Okay.”

“‘Bad Luck’ is really vague, though,” Chan said, thoughtful. “Could you be struck by lightning, or something? Have a piano fall on you?”

“Any one of us could get struck by lightning,” Wonu pointed out. “You don’t have to be cursed for that to happen. Very terrible things can happen to any of us at any time, regardless of magic.”

“Damn,” Chan said, sitting back. “I really wanted to go one day without having to contemplate the crushing weight of mortality, thanks hyung.”

“Yolo,” Wonu said seriously.

Hansol burst out laughing. He high-fived Wonu, who looked very pleased with himself, while Chan groaned dramatically about how much he needed to find friends with references from this decade.

Wonu turned to Hansol after they’d composed themselves and said sincerely, “Please do be careful, though.”

“You be careful, too,” Hansol said, equally sincere.

Wonu screwed up his face and threw a napkin at him. “Do you know anyone who could help you with the curse in the meantime?” he asked. “Maybe there’s a way to help mitigate the effects.”

“Wait, Shua-hyung knows about magic,” said Chan. “He can levitate stuff. I think?” He wrinkled his brow thoughtfully. “Seungkwan?”

Seungkwan looked up from where he was staring intently at the wall on the other side of the restaurant, like there was a math problem written on the wall he was trying to work out. “What?”

“Can Josh do magic? Could he help Hansol with his curse?”

Seungkwan snorted. “No. Josh learned a bunch of sleight-of-hand tricks when he was twelve. We couldn’t get him to stop at the choir winter party last year. Seokmin was losing his mind but he was also completely blasted.”

Hansol laughed. “I went to that party. I remember him being really good?”

“He was amazing for performing on a whole bottle of wine,” Seungkwan conceded.

Chan frowned. “Okay, but do we really not know anyone who studied Magic Arts between us? No one who could help you end the curse a little faster?” Chan tapped the table and pointed at Wonu. “Wasn’t Soonyoung-hyung planning to take some classes at the community center?” Wonu was already shaking his head negative.

“Yes, but one, he just started, and two, it’s conjuring for stage design. He wants to do something special with the older kids’ class next fall and apparently he’s ‘over’ practical effects.”

“How’s he doing?”

Wonu rolled his eyes but his face was unmistakably fond. “He’s banned from practicing in our bedroom but he’s really excited. He keeps trying to change his name in my phone to ‘Hoshi the Great.’”

“He did that to me during my shift at the studio last week!” Chan exclaimed, laughing.

Hansol laughed, too, leaning back against the vinyl booth. He felt better and better the longer he spent at the table. He’d eaten, the sun was shining, and nothing had spilled on him in at least twenty minutes.

He looked over at Seungkwan, who was already looking at him with a complicated expression. Hansol made a face; Seungkwan made it back at him and his expression smoothed.

“I’ll be careful with the curse,” Hansol promised him, while Chan teased Wonu next to them. “Please don’t worry.”

“I know you will." Seungkwan answered, chewing his lip. “But being ‘cool and chill’ doesn’t mean you just have to silently deal with everything that happens to you, you know.”

He paused and contemplated Hansol, who shifted under his gaze. He felt itchy, suddenly. He hadn’t really noticed the residue of the curse on him but he could feel it now—all jittery over his skin.

“Can I come over later and make sure you’re doing alright?” Seungkwan asked, finally.

Hansol nodded. “Definitely. I’ll text you.” He remembered his phone. “No, I can’t. Come over any time after six.”

…

Seungkwan knocked on his apartment door a minute before six with two take-out bags in hand. Hansol pulled him into a tight hug before he was even all the way into the apartment.

“Whoa,” Seungkwan wheezed, kicking the door shut and delicately setting down the bags. “Bad day?”

Hansol groaned into his shoulder and Seungkwan wrapped his arms around him, holding him tight.

“Is something burning?” Seungkwan asked.

He groaned louder and Seungkwan laughed, swaying them gently side to side. Hansol buried his nose into Seungkwan’s shoulder and breathed in the vaguely floral scent of his expensive conditioner. He felt so solid and warm, with a brush of winter clinging to his coat. He felt like the opposite of being cursed.

“Thank you for coming,” he said, muffled into Seungkwan’s shoulder. “And thank you for bringing food. Everything I have spoiled and the curse broke the microwave.”

Seungkwan’s shoulders shook with laughter and he shifted to rub his hand across Hansol’s back, soothing. His cold thumb brushed against Hansol’s skin at his collar and he shivered. He felt Seungkwan stiffen for a fraction of a second.

“The curse broke it, huh?” Seungkwan let go of him and took him in. “You look tired.”

“And you look nice,” he noticed, as Seungkwan pulled off his shoes and hooked his coat by the door. He had changed since he saw him earlier, into a pretty dark green sweater Hansol didn’t recognize. It was open at the collar and showed the barest touch of his collarbones.

“Do I?” Seungkwan replied nonchalantly, gathering up the food and heading to the kitchen. Hansol tracked his walk to the kitchen. He was even wearing what Hansol privately called his nice jeans—the chic, dark, fitted ones he wore out when he wanted to show off.

Hansol plopped on the sofa and watched him begin to methodically unpack the food. “Are you going somewhere later?”

Seungkwan fluffed his bangs in his reflection in the microwave and made a noncommittal noise. “I just put this on.”

Maybe he is going somewhere after all, Hansol thought to himself, with a pang of jealousy that he tried to squash. He traced his eyes over Seungkwan while he worked, his eyes catching again on the sliver of skin open at his neckline, the dip of his waist, the curve of his thighs in his nice jeans, and saved the image for himself. Good for whoever was seeing him next. He couldn’t ask Seungkwan to stay with him all night, anyway, as nice as it was to have him and as much as he might want him to.

“Oh, here,” Seungkwan called from the kitchen. He reached into his tote and tossed something soft and blue out at Hansol, who caught it and saw it was a pastel blue apron with ‘Taste the Magic’ printed in sparkly white script. “For spills.”

Fondness hit him in a wave. “Perfect,” he laughed, pulling it on over his old stretched out and stained t-shirt. He really hoped Seungkwan wasn’t seeing anyone after.

“You should have seen yourself earlier,” said Seungkwan, coming out of the kitchen and offering him a bowl. “You looked like a drowned rat and twice as miserable.”

“Mean!” He laughed again and accepted the food. Seungkwan settled on the couch next to him.

“Why is it so dark in here?” Seungkwan asked, stirring his food.

“Mood lighting,” he joked. Seungkwan choked on a piece of noodle and he looked up, alarmed. “Are you okay?”

Seungkwan waved a hand and nodded, coughing.

“Every single light I touched burned out,” he continued, passing Seungkwan his water bottle. “Eventually I just stopped trying to turn things on.”

Seungkwan smiled at him sympathetically. “It’s been bad?”

He sighed. “I don’t really want to talk about the curse,” he said honestly.

He was exhausted, frankly. He had spent most of the day trying to do simple things: take a nap, start laundry, make food. Every task turned into an unpredictable, exhausting trial. He didn’t even feel cursed anymore so much as haunted—like a malicious presence had taken over him, wrested away his control of his body and surroundings. He had spent most of the day after brunch paranoid and miserable. He didn't want to admit it, but two more days at the curse’s mercy were going to be rough. He didn’t want to give it anymore time than it had taken.

He smiled faintly. “Tell me what you’re up to?”

Something flashed across Seungkwan’s face before he schooled it and, with a dramatic sigh, launched into a long story about how the liberal arts council interpersonal politics were shaping up to be even worse than last year.

Hansol felt his tension tick down, down, down as he listened to him talk, like a tight spring in his chest was releasing bit by bit. He loved being with Seungkwan on the best of days; at the end of today, spent alone and miserable, it felt like an absolute gift to have him here.

Seungkwan finished his second story about how he was _this_ close to fighting Jeonghan on the graduate council if he didn’t start returning his emails soon as he collected both of their empty bowls and deposited them in the kitchen. He came back and situated himself against the opposite arm of the couch, turned towards Hansol with his feet tucked under him. Hansol stretched out his legs comfortably and tapped his socked feet on Seungkwan’s knees.

“Is Jihoon around?” Seungkwan asked, absently playing with a ragged hole at the hem of Hansol’s pant leg, where he’d snagged it on a nail that afternoon.

“He’s at a gig. I think his band is playing a wedding tonight.”

Seungkwan hummed and nodded absently. His finger poked the skin at Hansol’s ankle and sent a zip up his leg, like he struck a weird nerve. Seungkwan took his hand back quickly and said, “I actually have something to tell you.”

Hansol’s heart dropped at how anxious he sounded. He sat up straight and crossed his legs. “Is everything okay?”

Seungkwan took a breath and blew it out slowly. “Everything’s fine. I think I can help you with your curse.”

Hansol didn’t know what he expected him to say. He cocked his head. “Okay?”

“I could break it for you, actually,” he said, looking down at his lap. “I—” He paused and pursed his lips, like the words were physically hard to say. “I’m a Curse Breaker.”

Hansol looked at him blankly. “You’re a psych major.”

He could see Seungkwan physically resist the urge to roll his eyes. “Yes. No. Not like that. I didn’t study it. But I can still break it.” He looked back at Hansol expectantly, worrying his lip with his teeth.

Hansol didn’t know what he was missing. “How? Doesn’t it take years to study and get certified? Unless you’re like—"

Oh. Oh _ho._ It clicked.

A huge teasing grin spread across his face. “Oh my god.” Seungkwan covered his face in his hands. “Seungkwan! You’re a Prince Charming?”

“This is the most embarrassing moment of my life,” he mumbled from behind his hands. “This is mortifying. Actually, forget I said anything. I’m leaving.”

Hansol laughed huge and delighted, reaching out to tug Seungkwan’s arms back down. “What are you talking about? That’s cool!”

Seungkwan’s red pouty face emerged from behind his hands. “It’s _very_ cool. And rare. But if you call me Prince Charming again, I will kill you.”

He was so cute. “Mhm.” Hansol bit back another laugh.

“I swear to god. They’ll never find your body, Chwe.”

Hansol grinned at him, eyes bright. “As you wish, your highness.”

Seungkwan threw a pillow at him and Hansol threw it back, giggling. “I’m going to kill you,” Seungkwan threatened. “This is serious. This is a very old family trait.”

“Ok, I’m sorry,” Hansol laughed. He forced his face to be serious. “I promise to never tease you about anything ever again. Your majesty.” Seungkwan smacked him with the pillow again.

He flopped back against the arm of the couch and watched Seungkwan, who still had nervous energy rolling off of him in waves. He didn’t know why he was so tense. ‘Prince Charming’ was a colloquial name for natural curse breakers, who had an innate ability to undo curses. It _was_ cool, and rare, and very valuable to be able to undo something as complicated and dangerous as a curse. Prince Charmings were mentioned in every Magic Arts textbook Hansol had ever read, but he never thought he’d know one, or be in a position to—

Hansol sat up straight. “Hang on. So, in order for you to break the curse—"

“Yes.”

Hansol knew his eyes were enormous. “You’d have to—”

“I’d have to kiss you, yes.” Seungkwan bit at his lip and watched him intently.

“Oh,” Hansol breathed, long and slow. He felt his face heat. “That’s not a myth?”

“It’s not a myth.”

Hansol’s heart was pounding. “How do you know it’s not a myth?”

Seungkwan blew out a puff of air. “How do I know I have to kiss you for it to work? It’s a function of the spell work. Two mirrored poses. And also, there’s a long body of scientific research about—”

Every time Seungkwan said ‘kiss you’ Hansol’s head went fuzzy, the words crashing around his skull like keys mashed on a piano. He realized abruptly that he was staring at Seungkwan’s mouth, which was red and wet where he’d worried it with his teeth, and dragged his gaze back up. _Something_ must have shown on his face, because Seungkwan trailed off, searching his face.

“Hansollie,” he asked softly, “Are you okay? Do you want me to go?”

“Um,” Hansol started. He didn’t know how to say anything. He definitely didn’t know how to say _kissing you is the only thing I’ve thought about since I met you_ in a cool casual way. He didn’t know how to accept this or even if it was right to accept this or—he was taking too long. He could see Seungkwan reading his pause, then reacting to it, his expression shifting into something gracious and understanding.

“That’s okay,” he said kindly, patting Hansol’s knee. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. I understand. Um, I should probably go—"

Hansol could be braver than this.

“Wait,” he said, grabbing Seungkwan’s hand before he could move. “Please don’t leave.”

Seungkwan’s eyes zipped to where their hands were joined, and Hansol felt an unnatural buzz creep up the skin of his arm and across his body, radiating from the touch.

“Woah,” he said, loosening his grip. It was the sensation of a plucked guitar string divorced from the string—a buzzy and metallic shiver that intensified across the surface of his skin as he held his hand. All the hairs on his neck stood up. “Do you feel that?”

Seungkwan looked up at him with wide eyes. “I think that’s the curse reacting to me."

“Reacting to you,” Hansol repeated. He dropped his hand and his skin settled as the vibration faded, the curse sinking back into him like a sticky syrup. It made his skin feel itchy. “Is this how it always works?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never done this before.” Seungkwan hesitantly traced his finger down Hansol’s bare forearm, leaving a tingling trail in its wake. He shivered and Seungkwan huffed a laugh. “I can feel the magic on you. It’s like you’re covered in static.” He lifted his finger and tapped it up and down on Hansol’s skin; the magic pulsed with it across his skin like a completed circuit. “It’s the tension between two inverse energies.”

“I don’t remember anything from Magic Arts,” Hansol confessed. He watched Seungkwan’s hand on his arm.

“I watched a YouTube video before I came here,” Seungkwan answered softly. He took his finger back and looked at Hansol. “I really don’t want to make you uncomfortable. If you’d rather just wait a few days, you can. I just wanted to offer this to you. I _am_ offering this to you.”

Seungkwan’s face was open and vulnerable in the low light of his apartment.

This was a gift—intimate, generous and personal. He would offer the same thing to Seungkwan if their roles were reversed, even if he wasn’t halfway in love with him. It would be easier to say yes if he weren’t. He knew it was probably unfair to take this without Seungkwan knowing how strongly he felt about him. Unfair, selfish—but also something he wanted, wanted, wanted.

If nothing else, he could be honest.

“I want you to kiss me,” he said. It came out like a confession.

Seungkwan blinked at him, lips parted, frozen. “Okay,” he said softly. “Okay.” He shifted closer on the couch, his eyes locking onto Hansol’s. He had never seen his eyes look like that before—dark, and focused. His pulse kicked.

“I’m going to—" Seungkwan reached out his hand and brushed his thumb along Hansol’s cheekbone, fingers sliding gently against his jaw.

The curse reacted immediately. An intense tremor rippled across his skin, and sending goosebumps spiraling across his chest and over his arms. The magic felt like a live current, reaching up and out to Seungkwan.

His heart started to pound. Seungkwan exhaled softly. The tips of his fingers slid into the hair at the base of his neck and stayed there.

And then Seungkwan’s eyes dropped to his mouth and he was leaning forward and Seungkwan was kissing him.

Hansol felt every cell in his body take flight.

Seungkwan’s lips were warm and wet and gentle. Their noses brushed, and for a moment he felt Seungkwan’s exhale brush softly across his overheated skin.

Seungkwan pulled back and said softly, “Look.”

Hansol blinked his eyes open and the room was awash in light. Seungkwan’s face was lit in a glow—soft, golden light reflected in his eyes and brushed across his cheekbones. “It worked. You’re glowing,” he said, awe in his voice

Hansol looked at himself. He _was_ glowing. The curse was pulling off his skin in glittering peels of golden light, surrounding them both in luminescent swirls that twined up to the ceiling; golden light raining in reverse.

He looked back. For one perfect moment, he caught sight of Seungkwan, bathed in light, looking up with wonder.

 _You’re so beautiful,_ he thought, helpless.

Then the magic faded, and they were back under the halogen lights of his apartment, the only sound was his heartbeat, and Seungkwan was looking at him, frozen.

“What did you say?”

Oh my god. Hansol blinked. “I—Did I say that out loud?”

“Did you call me beautiful?” Seungkwan said, his voice pitching up.

He couldn’t think. He felt like he’d been suddenly doused in cold water, had his tongue cursed to weigh a thousand tons. “Um. You—I mean, you are. All the time, obviously. Ever since--yes?” he said, completely floundering. “I’m so sorry, this isn’t how I wanted to—I’m sorry.”

He pressed his hand over his mouth. Seungkwan looked speechless. 

Hansol was abruptly incredibly tired of feeling like things were happening to him instead of with him. Ever since he clicked on that link he’d been robbed of the ability to feel in control of his life. Even with the curse gone, now, that feeling lingered.

He wanted to own himself again. He hadn’t meant to say that, but he _meant_ it. And Seungkwan should know.

He squared his shoulders. “Yeah. I did. I think you’re beautiful.”

“Oh,” he said. His eyes were very wide. “Well. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Hansol said dumbly.

They sat in silence. Hansol felt his face heat. Seungkwan kept cutting his gaze back and forth from Hansol’s face to the wall over his left ear.

“Okay, well!” Seungkwan started, forced cheer in his voice. “Do you wanna watch a movie or something? Maybe we could go out now that you aren’t cursed. You probably want to get out of the house.”

Hansol’s heart sank as he listened to Seungkwan rattle off a list of movies they could go see. He’d made it weird. He’d made it really weird and awkward and now Seungkwan was trying to change the subject. Was he being let down gently? That was chill. No worries. He felt like his heart was breaking a little bit, though. Maybe a lot.

He didn’t know any magic. He couldn’t conjure objects out of thin air, tell the future, bring things to life, couldn’t bend the universe to his will. He couldn’t even avoid falling for phishing scams. All he had was himself and his words and his truth.

And maybe baring your heart was a form of magic, too.

“Seungkwan,” he interrupted. “I’m sorry. Just to be clear, I think you’re beautiful romantically.”

He felt like he had cast a spell, after all, for the fragile moment that bloomed with his words and how still Seungkwan had gone, like a flower caught in glass.

“What?” he squeaked.

“I was trying to make a move on you a second ago.” Hansol looked up determinedly. “I don’t know if you’re letting me down really gently or if you couldn’t tell.”

“You’re making a move right now?” Seungkwan repeated. “A romantic move?”

He fought to keep the nervousness out of his voice. “I wanted you to know.”

They looked at each other. His heart was beating out of his chest.

“You did a bad job,” Seungkwan said crossly.

His heart skipped. “What?”

Seungkwan frowned at him. “Confessing. You did a bad job. I had no idea what that was.” He reached out and took Hansol’s hands in his, warm and soft. “I think you should try again.”

“Oh,” he said, looking down at their hands. He suddenly felt precisely like he had earlier, like something gold and glittering was slowly blooming in his chest. “Thank you for the note. Can I try again?”

“Yes, you may,” Seungkwan said, voice overly formal. Hansol snorted and Seungkwan tried to hide a grin.

“Okay.” He squeezed Seungkwan’s hands. “Hello.”

“Hello,” Seungkwan said back, biting a smile. His eyes were so, so bright.

Hansol laughed. He couldn’t help it. “Hi. I think you’re my favorite person in the entire world. Some days all I want to do is look at you. Be with you. I want you when I’m sad and when I’m happy and…” He shook his head. “I don’t even know. I feel like I blinked one day and you were everything to me.”

“I’ve had a crush on you since we met,” Seungkwan confessed quietly. “I can’t believe you couldn’t tell. I hung around you like a puppy the entire first year. I really thought you didn’t think of me like that and then we got so close and I didn’t--” He paused and looked at their intertwined hands. “You know, our friendship. You’re so important to me.”

“You too.” He traced his thumb across the back of Seungkwan’s hand. “I was so obsessed with you. I _am_ obsessed with you. It took me a long time to realize what exactly I was feeling.” He laughed helplessly. “I just like you so much.”

Seungkwan did a little hiccupping laugh, like he couldn’t believe this was happening. “I like you so much, too. You’re stupid hot and you’re my best friend.”

Hansol grinned. “That’s wild because _you’re_ stupid hot and _my_ best friend.”

A flush was blooming across Seungkwan’s cheeks. He was radiant. Desperately, stupidly attractive. Hansol wanted to kiss him again.

“Can I kiss you again?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Seungkwan said, more a laugh than words.

Hansol tugged Seungkwan’s hands and pulled him forward into his lap, shifting so that Seungkwan’s thighs could bracket his legs, his arms could tangle around Hansol’s neck.

He slid his hand against Seungkwan’s jaw and fit their mouths together. He felt like the luckiest person alive.

…

[coda]

…

Seungkwan woke up with a start in a bed that wasn’t his. He sat up straight and started again when he saw a person next to him.

He rubbed his eyes and the room came into gray focus. Bare white walls. Production equipment packed onto every available surface, blinking red and green lights into the darkness. Guitar case. Keyboard. Hansol’s room.

And that was Hansol sleeping next to him, starfished on his back, taking more than his slice out of the bed. The blankets had fallen to pool around his waist, and goosebumps pimpled across his bare shoulders.

Seungkwan pulled the blankets back over his top half and sank back under the covers, curled towards him.

That was Hansol, and he was here because he’d broken his curse.

More than that. They’d kissed and confessed and then kissed again, and then they’d taken each other’s clothes off.

He watched him breathe, lips parted and lashes casting shadows in the streetlight filtering through his bedroom window. A stripe of yellow light cast diagonally across his cheek, like the memory of the broken curse lifting from his skin.

He hadn’t expected the night to end like this.

He knew Hansol wouldn’t have laughed him out of the apartment when he told him he could kiss him and break the curse. He knew at the very worst he’d be kind and say that’s okay, no thank you. Seungkwan had been prepared for him to say no. Wanted him to say yes—because Hansol was miserable and he could help, he told himself over and over again.

But also because he was selfish.

Seungkwan had been with many boys while ignoring how he felt about Hansol. A range of hook-ups and boyfriends, that he’d shared nights with and dated and dumped and been dumped by. He liked a lot of them. But none of them had carried this much of his heart, right at the start. None of them had been Hansol.

Anxiety tripped up his stomach. This was big. Did they both realize how big this was? He didn’t know what he’d do if things went badly, if Hansol didn’t understand how much of him he held. He hadn’t had to navigate falling in love with his best friend before.

Hansol hadn’t looked like he was casual. He looked serious and honest, and Seungkwan trusted him more than almost anyone in this world.

 _You’re everything to me_ , Hansol had said. _Everything. Beautiful._ Then, later, after Seungkwan had pushed him into the bedroom: _so fucking hot._ This, gasped, underneath Seungkwan, with his hair mussed and eyes blown dark. A g _od, you’re so—_ cut off witha gasp and a moan when Seungkwan slid his knee up between his legs, branded his lips to the side of his neck.

Seungkwan liked it so much. Hansol was desperately attractive in a way Seungkwan had spent years trying very hard not to get too wrapped up in. He’d thought about it anyway—how he might be and what they could do with each other. Played it out in his head sometimes when he looked at Hansol’s hands or his neck.

He had worried, sometimes, that if this ever did happen it would be weird between them—that somehow three years of friendship, so many secrets and stories and embarrassments bare between them, would make it awkward instead of sexy. Like maybe they could fit together in so many ways, but not this way, after all.

But it _was_ sexy, and easy _._ Hansol pulling off his new sweater and flipping it over the side of the bed, running his hands up Seungkwan’s ribs, taking his mouth. Pausing to free Hansol from his borrowed apron, laughing when the knots wouldn’t come undone, pushing him back on the bed and getting to trace his mouth across his bare chest.

He knew Hansol so well, but suddenly he got to learn _new_ things, got to know him in a completely different context.

He learned Hansol liked to use his hands, smooth them over Seungkwan’s bare skin, twist his fingers in his hair, grip his thighs and his hips. He wasn’t so sure about kissing with his tongue, but he liked it when Seungkwan did it, when he held his jaw and licked into his mouth.

It was thrilling to know. He swallowed every reaction Hansol gave him: every flex and sigh and sound.

He pressed kisses to the insides of his thighs and his chest jumped. He took his hand, mouthed against his fingers and listened to his breath catch. He took his cock into his mouth, felt his fingers clutch in his hair, saw how he tossed his head back when he worked him with his hand and tongue.

He already knew Hansol was warm and solid and strong but it felt profound when he flipped them and it was his warm weight pressing Seungkwan into the mattress, his arm pinning his hips still when he put his mouth on him.

Later was exactly the same as every other time he’d ever stayed over with Hansol before, but wonderfully, profoundly different. They still elbowed each other for space in the tiny bathroom, but this time Hansol wrapped his arm around Seungkwan’s waist as they brushed their teeth, swatted at his ass, kissed the top of his head when he complained about having to borrow Hansol’s terrible facial cleanser that he kept telling him was too harsh for his skin and threatened to throw out every time he was over, spun him around and pressed him back against the sink and kissed him. They both tasted like toothpaste.

Hansol lent him a big clean shirt and a pair of clean underwear to sleep in. Seungkwan was with him when he bought those—they went together to a big-box store when Seungkwan was moving into his first apartment. Hansol had kept him company as he picked out a shower curtain, a frying pan, a floor lamp; he grabbed a bulk pack of boxers for himself when they left.

Their lives were so entangled already. Hansol had worked his way so thoroughly into his life, with his easy smile and steady presence, his easy confidence where Seungkwan felt like he had to try so, so hard. Being with him was like being with a steady flame, bright and warm and assured.

He sank closer to Hansol in the bed, pressing up against his side and sliding an arm across his chest. He nudged his bare leg against Hansol’s, then draped it over. They’d shared beds before, snuggled together after late nights out and on trips with their friends and when he’d brought him to his childhood bedroom in Jeju. Seungkwan naturally liked to lean on his friends, hold hands, link arms. Hansol wasn’t as casually touchy as him, but he let Seungkwan touch him. He’d constantly worried about at what point was he overstepping, taking more than he was due as a friend.

But he had permission now, to touch with intention and a different sort of affection.

He bumped his head against Hansol’s shoulder. His apartment was cold in the Seoul winter, but his skin was warm and thrumming with life. It felt like magic.

**Author's Note:**

> they will wake up the next morning and hansol will say “good morning, prince charming” and then seungkwan will physically push him out of the bed
> 
> holy moly!!! 
> 
> i started this story to help me work through some writing anxiety about a couple of serious projects. i’ve never tried to write anything like this before and it feels amazing to remember that writing can be fun. thank you so so much for reading <3
> 
> my tumblr is [here](https://ahngelras.tumblr.com/)


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